'In that she wasn't there for her husband? That if she had been, he might not have been driven to do what he did?' asked King.
'Yes.'
'So you didn't see Regina Ramsey after her husband died?' asked Michelle.
'No, I did,' he said quickly, and then hesitated. 'Certainly at the funeral; and while Kate was a student here and some other times.'
'What was the cause of death, do you remember?'
'An overdose of drugs.'
'She never remarried?' inquired King.
Jorst turned a little pale. 'No. No, she didn't.' He recovered and noticed their inquisitive looks. 'I'm sorry, this is all rather painful for me. These were my friends.'
King studied the faces of the people in the photo some more. Kate Ramsey looked to be about ten in that picture. Her features were intelligent and loving. She stood between her parents, holding hands with both of them. A nice, loving family. On the surface anyway.
He handed the photo back. 'Anything else you can think of that might help?'
'Not really.'
Michelle gave him a card with her numbers on it. 'Just in case something occurs to you,' she explained.
Jorst looked at the card. 'If what you say is true, that there was another assassin, what exactly was he supposed to do? Provide a backup in case Arnold missed his target?'
'Or,' said King, 'was somebody else supposed to die that day too?'
35
When they called the Center for Public Policy at VCU, King and Michelle were told that Kate Ramsey was away but was expected to return in a couple of days. They drove back to Wrightsburg, where King pulled into the parking lot of an upscale grocery store in the downtown area.
'I guess I owe you a fancy dinner and a nice bottle of wine,' explained King, 'after dragging you all over the place.'
'Well, it was a lot more fun than standing in a doorway with a gun while a politician scrounges for votes.'
'Good girl. You're learning.' King suddenly stared out the window, obviously thinking about something.
'Okay, I know that look. What's going through that head of yours now?' asked Michelle.
'You remember Jorst kept saying that Atticus was lucky to have someone like Ramsey, that Berkeley scholars and national experts didn't just drop into schools like Atticus every day?'
'Right. So?'
'Well, I saw Jorst's diplomas in his office. He went to decent schools, but nothing even in the top twenty. And I'm guessing the other professors in the department weren't superstars like Ramsey, which was maybe why they were intimidated by him.'
Michelle nodded thoughtfully. 'So why did a brilliant Berkeley Ph.D. and national expert end up teaching at a place like Atticus?'
King looked at her. 'Exactly. If I had to guess, it's because Ramsey had some skeletons in his closet. Maybe from his protesting days. Maybe that's why his wife finally left him.'
'But wouldn't that have come out after he assassinated Ritter? They would have checked his background with a fine-tooth comb.'
'Well, not if it was covered up well enough. And you're talking a long time before the assassination. And the sixties were a crazy time.'
As they meandered through the grocery store aisles gathering items for dinner, Michelle noted the whispers and glances the well-heeled patrons were giving King. At the checkout counter King tapped the shoulder of the man in front of him who was doing his best to ignore King's presence.
'How's it going, Charles?'
The man turned and blanched. 'Oh, Sean, yes, good. And you? I mean…' The man looked thoroughly embarrassed at his own question, yet Sean just kept smiling.
'Shitty, Charles, just shitty. But I'm sure I can count on you, right? Got you out of that nasty tax problem a few years ago, remember?'
'What, oh, I… oh, there's Martha out front waiting. Good-bye.'
Charles hustled off and climbed into a Mercedes station wagon driven by a distinguished-looking white-haired woman whose mouth dropped open when her husband started telling her of his encounter. She drove off in a huff.
As King and Michelle headed out with their grocery bags, she said, 'Sean, I'm sorry about all of this.'
'Hey, the good life had to end sometime.'
Back at King's house he fixed an elaborate dinner that started with a Caesar salad and crab cake appetizers and was followed by pork tenderloin in a mushroom and Vidalia onion sauce and a sideserving of garlic mashed potatoes. For dessert they feasted on chocolate eclairs. They ate on the rear deck overlooking the lake.
'So you can cook, but are you available to rent for parties?' she joked.
'If the price is right,' he answered.
Michelle held up her wineglass. 'Nice stuff.'
'It should be, it's right in its prime. I've had it in my cellar for seven years. One of my most cherished bottles.'
'I'm honored.'
Sean eyed the dock. 'How about a spin on the lake later?'
'I'm always game for water activities.'
'There are some swimsuits in the guest room.'
'Sean, one thing you'll learn about me: I never go anywhere without sports gear.'
With King driving the big red motorcycle-like Sea-Doo 4TEC and Michelle seated behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, they went out about three miles, and then King dropped a small anchor into the shallow water of a cove. They sat on the Sea-Doo, and King looked around.
'Give it six weeks or so, and the colors here will be something to see,' said King. 'And I also love how the mountains look with the sun going down behind them.'
'Okay, time for some exercise to work off that meal.' Michelle took off her life jacket, then stripped off her top and sweatpants. Underneath she wore dazzling red Lycra shorts and a matching workout top.
King found himself staring at her, openmouthed, the beautiful mountain vistas no longer engaging his attention.
'Problem?' asked Michelle as she glanced at him.
'No problem here,' said King as he quickly looked away.
'Last one in.' She dove into the water and came up. 'Going to join me?'
He stripped down and dove in and came up next to her.
Michelle eyed the shoreline. 'How far do you think that is?'
'About a hundred yards. Why?'
'I'm thinking about entering a triathlon.'
'Gee, why am I not surprised?'
'I'll race you,' she said.
'It won't be much of a race.'
'Pretty cocky, huh?'
'No, I mean you'll kick my ass.'
'How do you know that?'
'You're an Olympian, I'm a middle-aged attorney with bum knees and a bad wing where I got shot doing my
